


Still think of me the way you've come to think of me

by Raven_Song



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Crowley Was Raphael Before He Fell (Good Omens), Crowley remembers the Fall, Hurt/Comfort, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-20
Updated: 2019-07-20
Packaged: 2020-07-08 23:21:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19877761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raven_Song/pseuds/Raven_Song
Summary: Crowley wakes up in the middle of the night after a nightmare about his Fall. He calls Aziraphale for comfort.Hurt/comfort fic





	Still think of me the way you've come to think of me

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Français available: [Still think of me the way you've come to think of me - Traduction](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20699663) by [Rikka_kun](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rikka_kun/pseuds/Rikka_kun)



Crowley woke screaming. 

His throat ached as the cry tore its way out of him. The darkness surrounding him was absolute and merciless. The shadows pressed in, smothering him and all of a sudden he couldn’t breathe. Clawed hands scrabbled at the sheets, his wings thrashing until he was freed from the constraints of fabric and launched himself upright. 

He wanted to curl in on himself, coiling serpentine until it stopped, whatever it was. He needed to run, blasting his way through the streets at ungodly speeds to pretend the thudding in his chest was fueled by the adrenaline of driving his Bentley and not from a nightmare. Demons don’t have nightmares, only humans do that. He had to escape this feeling, these thoughts at any cost.

Sucking in a sharp breath in a desperate attempt to calm his pounding heart, Crowley felt something slip off his cheek. Shaking fingers confirmed that tears were streaming down his face. He had to do something. He needed help. He needed- 

Diving across the bed, Crowley swore as he smacked his hand into something hard and wooden. Demons aren’t blind in the dark like mortals. They dwelt in the shadows and as occult beings their night vision was perfect. In his panic, and perhaps due to the tears, Crowley was blind. Fumbling fingers groped across the bedside table until they closed over his cell phone. One touch and it rang. The air seemed to thing as the rings dragged on, clotting in Crowley’s throat until he gasped for breath.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale’s voice filled the room, so familiar and so far away. Relief flooded Crowley in a tidal wave. There was a shuffling sound on the other end of the line. The scrape of paper over wood. “Why on earth are you calling me at such an hour? If this is to help you with a temptation, I simply cannot. I have two dozen books to shelve before I open tomorrow. You know how difficult it is to do any work when there are customers milling about and making a mess of things.”

“Aziraphale I need- I can’t. Oh God.” Crowley’s stuttering voice broke as a sob forced itself free.

“Crowley? What’s the matter? Are you alright?” Panic tinged the angel’s voice, tearing a soft cry from Crowley’s lips.

“Angel, please. I need you.” And then he was there, arms wrapping around Crowley’s shoulders until the weeping demon was enveloped. The darkness was pushed back, the terror that had grappled him ebbing away as he was surrounded by his angel. Crowley took a deep breath, breathing in Aziraphale’s cologne. His breathing steadied, his pulse slowed. Though it was only a few minutes until Crowley had calmed down it felt like eons. 

“Oh my darling,” the angel soothed, pulling Crowley close. “What’s happened?”

“I couldn’t breathe.” Crowley pressed a hand to his chest. “I was sleeping, and then I was screaming. I dreamt of it.” Aziraphale scrunched his nose in confusion.

“Dreamt of what?” Crowley’s answer was scarcely a whisper.

“The Fall.” Crowley buried his face in Aziraphale’s chest, hiding his tear-stained face from his angel’s view. They rarely talked about it. Wasn’t exactly a pleasant memory, after all, and Aziraphale knew better than to ask. The pain and betrayal still hurt even after all of these centuries. But remembering was a tricky thing. Those bad days had a nasty habit of surfacing when least expected.  
Aziraphale stroked Crowley’s hair. His embrace kept the night at bay, but the memories were still there, burning through Crowley’s mind bright and scorching. A gasping sob turned into a hiss of distress forced between his teeth.

“Breathe,” his angel murmured, never ceasing his ministrations. “You don’t have to say anything. Just breathe, that’s it.” Patiently coaxing the demon back into the present with soft touches and soothing words and all of the love the angel had. 

They sat in silence for a long time, Aziraphale still holding Crowley tight. 

It was Crowley who spoke first.

“I was dreaming that I was back. When the Almighty cast me out.” Aziraphale said nothing, simply continued stroking the demon’s hair. “All I had done was ask questions. Asked why the humans were getting special treatment, why the universe was so empty of life save for this one planet, why is the platypus so strange. That sort of thing. Lucifer encouraged me. Of course he did. I was asking the questions everyone else was too afraid to. I didn’t know any better.” Crowley swallowed.

“The worst thing was how calm the Almighty was. There was no anger, no emotion at all. Just cold apathy. Like I was nothing to Her. I begged for Her forgiveness. Pleaded on my knees to stay, that I wouldn’t make the same mistake twice. And She didn’t even answer me.” Aziraphale frowned slightly, scrunching his nose in that way that Crowley would have found adorable if he hadn’t been so upset.

“I was at the back of the crowd,” the angel said softly. “I didn’t see much.”

“Gabriel was there. Michael too. They were the ones who enforced Her will. The Archangels. My own siblings did the deed. I tried to reason with them, to remind them that I was their brother. We had sculpted the nebulas and the planets together. They kept advancing. Backing me towards the edge of Heaven. Someone shoved me. Don’t remember who. And then I was falling. Hurtling down through the atmosphere toward Hell. My beautiful wings burned and blackened and all I could see was Heaven fading as I fell away. I hit the ground, and I felt pain like I never had before. Every inch of me was singed black and red, every bone in my body seemed to have shattered. I rolled over and saw my reflection in a puddle of murky water. I watched as my eyes changed. The pupils growing into slits, the iris fading into yellow. My wings smouldered on my back and I wept. I was hideous, Angel.” 

Aziraphale’s hands tightened on Crowley’s for a moment. Still he said nothing. The demon kept talking, the words tumbling out in a rush.

“Around me, the other Fallen were screaming. One by one we lost what was heavenly about us. We became monsters. _Demons_. I wanted to hide my face, so I turned into a serpent. And I stayed that way until, well. Until I met you.”

Aziraphale hesitated for a moment before gingerly turning Crowley to face him. His eyes were serious.

“Crowley. My dear. You are not hideous. Look at you,” he cupped the demon’s face in his hands. “You are the most beautiful creature I have ever seen. And I don’t believe you were in the wrong. Asking questions isn’t a crime, it’s human. You and I, we were always too different for Heaven and Hell. That isn’t bad. It’s rather poetic, I think. The Adversary sent you to tempt humanity and the Almighty sent me to protect them. In the end we were more human than they could have ever predicted.”

Crowley managed a weak smile at that. “I’m a demon. We don’t do poetry.” Aziraphale beamed back.

“Of course not. What about that music, then? I can be poetry and you can be, oh what is it called? Not bebop, the other one...”

“Rap?”

“Yes, that’s it! I am poetry and you are rap.” Crowley shook his head, smile growing. How could someone as clever as Aziraphale be so painfully out of touch? “It’s good to see you smiling,” Aziraphale told him. “Are you feeling better?”

“Much,” Crowley replied earnestly. “Thank you for coming. Er, helping.”

“I’ll always come when you call. Need help! I’ll always come when you need help. We have been friends for six thousand years, after all. And you helped me out of that tough spot in Paris. And during the Blitz with those Nazi spies...”

“I get the point, Aziraphale,” Crowley grinned. “You’ll always save me and I’ll always save you. That’s how it works. The two of us can stand against anything.” 

Aziraphale caught a glimpse of something in Crowley’s eyes he had only ever seen once before. It was the look Crowley gave his car after the averted Apocalypse. A look of love. The angel cleared his throat and adjusted his bowtie, fastidiously avoiding Crowley’s eyes. 

“I do have one question, if you don’t mind, that is. You don’t have to answer me of course. I wouldn’t want to make things worse I’m just ever so curious you see and-” Aziraphale shook his head and tried again, folding and unfolding his hands in his lap. “Before you, well, before the erm,” he dropped his voice to a whisper. “ _The Fall_. I was wondering what your name was. Crawly isn’t a very angelic name, and well, I might have met you. You know, in Heaven. Or at least I could’ve heard of you.” Crowley’s smile flickered for just a moment. He tilted his head, snakelike, to consider Aziraphale before answering.

“My name was Raphael.” Aziraphale stared.

“As in, the _Archangel_ Raphael? You were a proper archangel? And you didn’t think to tell me?”

“I, erm, well, I didn’t think it was important. I might have been him once, but I’m Crowley now. If it makes you uncomfortable, I understand.” Crowley made to leave, but Aziraphale’s hands tightened on his own.

“It doesn’t make me uncomfortable. I’m just shocked, that’s all.” Aziraphale squeezed Crowley’s hands for comfort. The demon relaxed just a little. An exhalation of breath. Tension flooding out of his shoulders. Before he could stop himself, Aziraphale found himself saying, “It does explain why you’re so beautiful though.”

“Beautiful?” A wave of icy dread washed over Aziraphale.

“It’s um, let’s just not worry about that now. You need some rest. Go back to sleep, Crowley. I’ll be right here when you wake.”

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from Teo Toriatte by Queen
> 
> This is my first work in the Good Omens fandom and I hope you enjoy it! I appreciate all likes, comments and kudos.


End file.
